plot twist
by elizabethandbug
Summary: College AU. How does Draco Malfoy catch the attention of the most irritating girl he knows? Why, by being just as irritating, of course.


[Premise]

Here's the thing

Draco didn't _mean_ to run into the bushy-haired know-it-all on the stairwell in the Liberal Arts building, but damn if he didn't just _love_ that scrunched up irritated face she made. So, that was how Draco spent the last semester of his senior year: pissing off Hermione Granger.

[Plot]

"Oi! Watch where you're going!" Draco called after a disgruntled Hermione Granger. After their first run-in on the stairs, he had Greg find out her schedule so he could irritate her as much as possible. He cut in front of her in the dining hall, tripped her in the bio building, and stole her seat in their sociology lecture. Some people might have called it stalking, but a wealthy senator's son didn't _stalk_ ; he observed and undermined the opposition. And Granger—with her Planned Parenthood tee-shirts and PETA patches on her worn backpack—was fundamentally the opposition.

"Fuck off" she called, without even a cursory glance behind her as she stormed off. Greg and Vince, already desensitized to Draco's mission, were wandering off to talk to newest Phi Alpha pledges running the bake sale in the quad. Draco followed after Granger, angry that he had to break a sweat before 10am. Jesus that girl walked quickly.

"Hey," he called, grabbing her arm. "You ran into me. The least you could do is apologize."

She yanked her arm out of his grasp, positively seething.

"What is your _problem_?" She asked with so much force that he was positive he wasn't the only one to be on the receiving end of her ire this morning.

He tried to ignore the adorable curls that escaped the tight bun at the top of her head. And the way her chin dimpled when she frowned. And how his hand still tingled from grabbing her arm.

"I just think it's rude to run into someone without saying 'sorry.' Didn't your parents teach you manners?" He tried to feign nonchalance, but it was no use; as much as he might pretend otherwise, he actually had very little experience with trying to win girls over. Most girls just flocked to him because of his name, no effort needed.

"Fuck. Off." She clearly annunciated, like she was speaking to an idiot. And she walked away.

Draco could take a hint. And the hint this girl was giving was that she wanted him to keep pursuing her. Clearly.

And those tight jeans were doing Granger a lot of favors.

[Twist]

Draco didn't attend a lot of frat parties. He considered himself above them, preferring to stay at home and invite a few friends over to sip whiskey and discuss current affairs.

Okay

Draco didn't _actually_ enjoy that, but he figured it was the type of behavior his dad would approve of, so he tried to stay away from loud parties for the sake of his reputation.

But he knew that Granger's two best friends were in this frat, so he figured he'd drop by to see if he could spot any familiar scrunched-up faces.

And sure enough, as soon as he walked in the door her spotted her near the keg, laughing as one of the aforementioned idiot friends tried to scoop the foam out of her plastic red cup. Jesus. Why did she have to keep such horrible company? The red-head was practically drooling over her as she leaned over to adjust the tap. At least Draco was more subtle.

And speaking of subtle...

Draco made his way over to the kitchen with the unopened bottle of Yamazaki (a party favor he brought for the house)

(although he doubted any of the inhabitants could tell the difference between it and a bottle of Jack)

(And, okay, maybe he was a bit of a snob, but at least he had _taste_ , which was more than he could say for a frat house that had Snoopy and Woodstock salt and pepper shakers for _Christ's sake_ )

At least here in the kitchen he couldn't see Granger; he could get his bearings.

He didn't know what it was about her that made him so unsettled. In their shared sociology class, she always gave him a dirty look whenever he dared to voice Social Darwinist theories. She shot him down with references to books he had never heard of, and called him a "Neo-Lamarckian environmental determinist" which was above his head. He was here to get his poly-sci degree and learn just enough to pass the LSAT. He didn't have time to research complex historical perspectives on race and gender. But there he was most evenings: in the library with Benedict Anderson or Franz Boas keeping him company late into the night as he tried to learn enough to one-up her in the next class.

(He always failed, of course. Because apparently she had read everything ever written)

It was while he was waiting (fruitlessly), holding his scavenged glass under the ice marker as it whirred, trying to spit out ice, that Granger walked in the kitchen. She stopped dead when she saw him, smile slipping off her face, but not quite gone. Her cheeks were patchy red, and one of the shoulder straps on her dress had _almost_ fallen down her shoulder. She was a bit tipsy, then. Good. Maybe he had a chance.

"Oh." She said, averting her eye. "The ice-maker doesn't work."

"Right," Draco replied, moving his cup away. The whirring stopped, leaving them awkwardly silent.

Draco willed himself to talk, to not lose the rare moment between them.

"I think you're wrong about Gilberto Freyre," He blurted out.

She looked up from her empty cup. "Excuse me?"

He had the feeling no one ever told her she was wrong. He could almost rub his hands in glee. Even if she might look pissed, he knew she was interested.

"You said he was the precursor to modern anti-racist social justice movements."

"Like three weeks ago!" She supplied, incredulously.

He ignored that. So what if he spent three weeks just trying to disprove her? He was going to, dammit.

"I think most historians would agree that he actually started a new form of apologist racism in Brazil," he supplied, trying to sound as disinterested as possible. He opened the fridge, looking for something other than canned beer. No luck. He went over to the counter and opened the bottle he brought, tilting it toward her, asking if she wanted any.

She moved closer and held out her cup. He could see she was still chewing over what he said. He poured her a generous portion of the whiskey after nearly filling his own cup.

"What makes you say that?" She asked loudly over the new song blaring from the living room (something about fireworks and the Fourth of July). He knew she was stalling until she could think of a good counter argument.

"Why don't we find somewhere quieter to talk?" he asked, tilting his head toward the backdoor.

She glanced over at her friends by the keg, and then back up at him. She was so close he could see the smile lines in her cheeks. His father always told him never to trust a girl who smiled too much.

"Okay," she agreed, leading the way out.

He followed behind her, enjoying the view.

His dad gave a lot of good advice, but he was going to ignore it for tonight.


End file.
